


Pre-Flight Jitters

by dragonflower1



Category: Practical Magic (1998)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Cookies, Family Feels, Food, Gen, Halloween, Magic, Missing Scene, Mostly Sweet, Tea, family traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflower1/pseuds/dragonflower1
Summary: The Owens family's Halloween celebration has always started with tea and cookies; but this year, Sally finds herself questioning whether she feels up to participating.A/N:  This is a missing scene from the end of the movie, right before the Owens family comes out onto the roof on Halloween night.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Pre-Flight Jitters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roguefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefaerie/gifts).



> Thank you for the opportunity to write this story for you! I've wanted to dabble in the Practical Magic fandom for a while now, but never had the chance. I immediately re-watched the movie as soon as I received the assignment, and couldn't believe how much food and drink is in it already! Between the aunts cooking up goodies in the kitchen, the whole pancake scene, Sally’s ubiquitous cup of coffee complete with magically-stirring spoon, Jimmy Angelov’s tequila, and Midnight Margaritas, it’s everywhere! It really lent itself to the Eat Drink and Make Merry challenge beautifully, and as you're a fan of missing scenes as well (I am, too!), I combined both into this little fic. I hope you find it as magically delicious to read as it was to write. <3
> 
> I also realized upon watching the movie, that for such a woman-centric film it was all about the men in everyone's lives. Therefore, I have done my best to ensure that this fic passes the Bechdel Test. I hope you don't mind. :)
> 
> Lastly, a big thanks to nightmare_lane for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine.

“Hurry up, girls!” Aunt Fran’s voice wafted up the winding staircase of the old Owens mansion along with the tantalizing, buttery aroma of shortbread cookies. “Samhain only comes once a year, and the moon passes its meridian at eight forty-five; we don’t want to be late!” 

“Be there in a minute,” Sally called down, absently adjusting the sleeve of her black velvet dress. She was thankful that she’d changed right after dinner to avoid the last-minute pandemonium she could currently hear issuing from her bedroom. 

She leaned over the rail, the better to inhale the rich scent of caramelized sugar and toasted flour that spiraled upward, and was suddenly reminded of when she was thirteen and tingling with the breathless anticipation of participating in her very first _real_ Halloween celebration. She and Gillie both, when practicing magic had been new and exciting, and she’d been eager to learn. 

Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken long for the prejudices of the townsfolk and her own desire to just be ‘normal’ to put a stop to that. The taunts and jeers and exclusion she’d been subjected to on a daily basis had eventually edged out the wisdom the aunts had tried to impart in the evenings along with chocolate cake and brownies. Until finally, in spite of Fran and Bridget’s insistence that she was far too extraordinary to ever fit in, she’d done her best to make it so. First by avoiding practicing her spells, then by constructing a façade of bland mediocrity to hide behind. With time, it became such a deeply-ingrained part of her personality that any pride she might have felt in her witchcraft had been all but snuffed out. Only the memory remained to flicker and dance in the corner of her eye like a will-o-the-wisp, faint and just out of reach. 

Thankfully, things had taken a turn for the better ever since Sally had gathered the PTA in her living room to help save her sister’s life. With the realization that only by embracing her power would she have the strength to do it, the lingering doubts which had kept her from reaching for her magic with the innocent exuberance she’d had for the Craft as a child had begun to crumble. And although she was the first to admit there were some days she missed the mask, she also knew it no longer served her, and that in the long run she’d be better off without it. 

A wistful smile played at the corners of Sally’s lips as she turned to relay Aunt Fran’s message, only to come face-to-face with the catalyst herself. Sally’s brows shot up in surprise while her sister smirked at her, impishly pleased with her startled reaction. Blue eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners, Gillie grabbed her by the arm, and in a swirl of titian hair and dark fabric she dragged Sally down the hall toward her bedroom.

As they entered the battle zone, Gillian let go of her arm and waded into the fray, thriving in the chaos like she always did while Sally leaned against the doorjamb to watch the proceedings. The girls clustered around the redheaded witch immediately, demanding attention that their Aunt Gillie was more than happy to give; and soon red-and-white striped tights were straightened, black bodices were fastened up the back with rows of tiny black buttons, and long, flowing skirts were twitched into place over lacy black petticoats.

“Ready, Mommy?” Kylie asked, her voice soft with a mixture of tender concern and barely suppressed excitement as she appeared beside her, gazing up at Sally with fathomless azure eyes as searching and insightful as Aunt Jet’s. But before Sally could muster a smile and a reassuring nod, she felt Gillian’s hands on her shoulders. 

“Not quite,” Gillie cackled in her ear, and she propelled Sally into the bathroom before her while her daughters piled in after, hooting and hollering like lunatics as they squeezed themselves into the confined, narrow space together. Good-natured shrieking and jostling ensued, and Sally found herself giving as good as she got as the four of them playfully jockeyed for position in front of the small mirror above the sink, making one last attempt at combing onyx- and carnelian-hued tresses into place, adding one last touch of mascara to enhance gleaming eyes, and gloss to smiling lips. 

Her melancholy momentarily forgotten in the raucous horseplay, Sally was just putting the top back on her lipstick, when Gillian turned and laid a hand against her cheek. Her expression was solemn although her eyes sparkled as she peered curiously into Sally’s face.

“ _Now_ you’re ready,” the redhead announced decisively after a moment of study, with a grin that Sally couldn’t help but return. The girls cheered, and as one they burst forth from the bathroom in their midnight finery like a murder of crows, the clatter of shiny black shoes shaking the wooden stairs as two generations of Owens women descended en masse to meet the third.

But when they reached the bottom, Sally hung back, watching as the others converged in the brightly-lit kitchen in a joyous outpouring of affection. The primordial trinity of Maiden, Mother, and Crone personified. 

While her relatives laughed and hugged and danced around the long wooden workbench that ran the length of the room, she took a moment to breathe in the sweet aroma of freshly-baked cookies and the green, earthy scent of herbal tea. The kitchen, itself, was warm, and the mouthwatering smells were stronger now, and infused with magical potential that hung thick in the air, an almost palpable force to be reckoned with.

_The aunts have outdone themselves this year,_ Sally mused, feeling the energy prickle across her skin as she let her gaze wander to the table. It had been dressed for the holiday, too, with a clean white cloth covering its scarred surface that gave the room a formal, festive feel. A half-dozen tall, pointy witch’s hats stood at one end, and at the other, a row of black parasols had been laid out, the tassels attached to their handles hanging over the edge in a neat row. 

In the center, taking pride-of-place on a black damask runner trimmed with an embroidered autumn leaf design, sat the shortbread. Flanked by two tealights in crystal holders, the small circular loaf had been cut into six golden wedges and carefully arranged on one of the fancy china plates they only used for special occasions. Next to it squatted a steaming teapot and six teacups and saucers, painted with the same delicate blue forget-me-nots as the platter. 

A simple mix of butter and sugar and flour. A simple blend of plants and herbs that had grown wild on the island since time immemorial. Upon first glance, they seemed a humble repast for such an auspicious occasion; but as Sally knew from experience, looks were very often deceiving. Although the spell, and the recipes for both the tea and biscuits, had come out of the grimoire, the original receipt had been written in Maria’s own hand in fading sepia-toned script on a crumbling scrap of vellum kept in the box under the stairs. Deceptively innocuous elements infused with magic so potent it could only be combined within the witch herself, they were powerful indeed. 

It was all so homey and familiar and reminiscent of every Samhain she’d ever spent with the aunts when she was younger, suddenly Sally wasn’t sure she wanted to participate. Every time she’d taken part in this embarrassingly public display of witchcraft in the past, it had only served to widen the chasm between herself and the townsfolk, indelibly marking her as ‘other’ and undoing an entire year’s worth of desperately trying to gain their acceptance.

Suddenly, it felt like too much of a risk, but just as Sally opened her mouth to voice her reservations, Gillian twirled to a stop in front of her, laughing and slightly out of breath. She threaded her arm through Sally’s and tugged gently, bringing her into the room – into the fold - just as Aunt Fran stepped up to the end of the table with the hats and Bridget took her place at the opposite end by the parasols, her bearing serene and regal like the high priestess she was. Toni and Kylie came to a halt on the other side of the makeshift altar, clinging to each other’s hands as they gazed across at Sally in wonder, almost like they’d never seen her before. And maybe they hadn’t. Never like this, unbound and strong and standing in her power.

_If only that was true,_ Sally thought mournfully, an instant before she made the terrifying realization that for better or worse, her daughters were taking their cues from her. If she shrank from this – ran away and hid from what she was like she’d always done; if she settled for trying to please everyone else at the expense of being true to herself because she too was afraid to live her life to the fullest, that was what they would likely do, too. She gazed at her beautiful baby witches, their faces shining with awe at being included in something so special, and she knew deep down inside that she couldn’t do that to them. 

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and stepped up to the cloth-draped table, touching her fingertips to the linen mere inches from the teapot. She cast a side-eye in Gillian’s direction and caught the wink her sister sent her way, then looked up and met Aunt Jet’s gaze. The older woman smiled at her, welcoming her warmly with a quiet nod of encouragement, then drew herself up and raised her arms in graceful supplication. 

“And so it begins,” Bridget intoned, calling the coven to order. “Sally, if you would be so kind?” She glanced at Sally and gestured vaguely at the table. 

In a time-honored tradition that went back to her first Halloween ritual with the aunts, Sally picked up the tealights and kindled the candle flames to life with an exhalation of breath. That done, she set them back on the altar and reached out for Aunt Fran and Gillian, clasping the hands reaching out to take hers. 

When the circle was complete, Bridget told the tale that had been handed down through the centuries, of Maria’s tribulations. How the townspeople – villagers then – had hoped to humiliate her by carrying out her sentence on this most ancient and blessed of days; but instead, she had turned the tables on them in her darkest hour and triumphed with powers that were as old as the world itself. 

Sally had heard the story so many times over the years that it faded to a pleasant buzzing noise as her gaze drifted from one Owens to another. Aunt Fran, her dark-rimmed eyes intense as usual. Toni and Kylie, their expressions rapt as they stared at Aunt Bridget, absorbing every detail. And Gillian, a smile on her lips and a tear slipping down her cheek as the familiar words washed over her. 

Her magic stirred inside her, a gentle tug that called her back to the circle just as Aunt Jet finished the blessing over the shortbread and tea. 

“Sally, if you would do the honors?”

Displaying more confidence than she felt, Sally lifted the china plate of shortbread and handed it off to Aunt Frances. She did the same with the tea, filling each cup to the brim and passing it clockwise. 

When the platter returned containing a single wedge and the last cup of witch’s brew sat steaming before her, she glanced up and nodded to Aunt Jet, who lifted her cookie, thanked the Powers that Be for the abundance they’d received over the past year, then took a bite. She did the same with the tea, raising the cup and acknowledging the blessings poured into their lives before taking a sip. “Ooh, Fran, it’s strong this year. Well done!” Bridget exclaimed, as she lowered the frail china shell enough to blow across the steaming liquid. She glanced around the table then, her eyes twinkling merrily as she took them all in. “Eat up! Drink up, everyone! The moon won’t wait!” 

As one, the rest of the Owens women joined her, nibbling on shortbread and taking cautious sips of the hot, bitter brew until their plates and cups were empty. Except for Sally. She’d finished her tea, but she still held the point of the shortbread between her fingers, uncertain even now as to whether she wanted to do this or not. She sensed the instant the energy in the room began to coalesce as each of the others ingested the last morsel - the last drop - and the spell activated. She watched as a shiver passed through Aunt Bridget and Aunt Fran grinned, wide and wicked, and her daughters locked eyes with each other and giggled with delight. Gillian gasped and twirled beside her, and in the next instant, Sally could feel the same faint electrical current wash over her. It danced across her skin as if seeking entrance, and finding none, moved on, whipping the rest of the witches up into a frenzy of laughter and joyous, uninhibited dancing until Fran bellowed, “Upward!” and they grabbed their hats and parasols and rushed out of the room. 

Only Bridget seemed to notice that she hadn’t been affected like the others. Carrying Sally’s accoutrements with her own, she crossed the room, pausing when she reached Sally’s side. Her wise, uncanny eyes considered her – and the bit of cookie she held – thoughtfully while the others ran past and clamored up the stairs, eager for the sky. 

As their hoots of laughter echoed down the stairwell, fading as they climbed higher, Aunt Jet slipped her arm around Sally’s back. “Come along, dear,” she murmured as she shepherded her into the front hall. “It’s time. Join us, if you’ve a mind to.” Bridget’s caring, timeless features crinkled into a smile and Sally felt small, reassuring circles rubbed into her back before her aunt turned and climbed the steps.

Did she have a mind to? What did she want? That was the question, and one that Sally was still straddling the fence on, torn between the quiet, unassuming life of an average mortal that she’d wanted for so long and the strange, extraordinary existence that awaited her as part of the Owens coven, if only she would reach out and take it. 

Alone in the now-empty foyer, Sally heard distant shouts and the soft murmur of conversations muffled by the door. It was the faint sounds of people gathering outside the gate. As she listened harder, she could hear that the voices, rather than yelling epithets as they had in years past, were raised in good spirits, and the tinkling laughter was decidedly jovial instead of mocking. The townspeople – their neighbors – who, after so many years had _finally_ seemed to realize that Sally and her family were human after all, had come to their door not to judge, but as friends, to celebrate with them on this most hallowed of nights. 

Her thoughts turned immediately to her family. To the aunts who had _always_ welcomed her without question, their gracious acceptance seemingly boundless in spite of her endless quibbling and resistance to anything magic-related. To her daughters, who were just taking their first tentative steps on the path and looked to her for support and guidance. And even to her sister – her wild, unpredictable, pain-in-the-ass sister, who had literally dragged her to the celebration tonight when she’d been unsure because she’d wanted her there. Wanted her to succeed. Wanted her to be a part of this for no other reason than it was where she felt Sally belonged. 

And she suddenly realized that it’s what she wanted too - more than anything. The step she’d taken out of desperation: naming herself as ‘witch’ to save Gillian, had been done under duress, and she’d been wrestling with it ever since. But this time, it was her choice to make for no other reason than it was the right move for her. And on this night of nights, when that which no longer served was traditionally released with the death of the year, there was no better time to make that decision. 

As the weight of the uncertainty she’d carried for years lifted, her magic rose within her like the incoming tide and a smile of pure joy lit up her face. Although being acknowledged by the community at-large felt good, it was nothing compared to finally embracing herself and her family’s magical heritage fully and without hesitation – powerful and grounding in a way that she’d been denying herself for most of her life. 

_Never again,_ she vowed, as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. A spark of determination ignited inside her and the last remnants of her fear fell away as she stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth, savoring the buttery goodness that melted on her tongue like a blessing as she gathered up her skirts.

Finally complete, the spell began to take effect even before Sally grasped the banister. Her feet barely touched the treads as she ran up the stairs after her aunts and her sister and her daughters, eager to reach the roof where, she knew in her bones, they were waiting for her to join them. Her family. Her coven: one that could trace its roots all the way back to Maria – and even farther. Back to the dawn of time, to the first Owens female who'd lifted her arms to the moon when the veil was thin, the bittersweet taste of tea and magic on her tongue. 

A bubble of euphoria burst in Sally’s chest and she lengthened her stride, taking the steps two at a time with ease. As she licked the last crumbs of shortbread off her lips, she reveled in the power that surged through her, connecting her to all the witches who came before her and all the witches who would come after in a shimmering web of light that she finally understood and accepted her place in.

And for the first time in a very long time, she felt as though she could fly.


End file.
